


Strange Things

by AceMoppet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Although there is angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hanging Tree AU, M/M, Possible Racial Insensitivity (explained in the notes), Suicide is romanticized, Surprising Amount of Fluff, Toxic Relationship, YOI Reverse Bang 2018, mildly graphic, suicide warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:12:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15191537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet
Summary: Are you, are you coming to the tree,Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be,If we met up at midnight at the hanging tree.---They were supposed to spend their lives together... and in a way, they did.Or: Victuuri Hanging Tree AU





	Strange Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Ace here! So this is the project I’ve spent the last 2-3 months working on, and honestly? I’m so glad I finally get to show it to y’all! The Reverse Bang was an absolutely wonderful experience. Thank you to all the mods who made this possible; you guys were amazing!
> 
> My partner was the lovely odinbytiye, or Taiga! Taiga, thank you so much for working with me and taking a chance on me. I couldn’t have done this without you. And to everyone, y’all should go scroll through her blog here: [ Odinbytiye](https://odinbytiye.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can find the art to this fic here: [ Art!](https://odinbytiye.tumblr.com/post/175617621383/are-you-are-you-coming-to-the-tree-where-they)
> 
> The particular version of the song this fic was inspired by can be found here: [ The Hanging Tree](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKrCE1aYz7o/)
> 
> Possible Racial Insensitivity Note: Someone pointed this out to me, and I am very thankful they did. While the source material for this fic (the Hanging Tree from the Hunger Games Trilogy) isn't meant to be racist, the history of hanging and lynching where I live (in the southern part of America) is, towards black people. As the person being hanged in the story is a white man, the possible insensitivity should be taken into consideration. I did not and do not intend any racism, but if anyone feels uncomfortable, please let me know.
> 
> Lastly, if you feel I left out any warnings in the tags above, feel free to let me know! 
> 
> That should be all! Thank you for reading, and if you like, throw me a kudos or write a comment!

**_Are you, are you coming to the tree,_ **

**_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?_ **

 

_\---_

 

_Darryl huffed as he marched briskly down the path. District 12 was so boring; day in and day out he would be walking around the quiet town, itching for even a hint of trouble so that something exciting would happen. But no. Nothing strange ever happened in this district. And unfortunately, the most exciting thing that had happened all of the eleven months he’d been here was hanging of the florist, who’d been very popular around town up until his death the day before. Supposedly, he’d been strung up for murdering three men, one of whom was the Mayor’s own son._

 

_Darryl shook his head. Honestly, what could’ve possessed a man like that to murder not only one, but three of the most important men in District 12? It was insane, utter madness, is what it was. And it would be the only interesting thing that would happen in Darryl’s entire stay here, he was sure of that._

 

_Huffing once more, he made his way down the last bit of the foot-worn path. He was here to collect the body of one Victor Nikiforov, the previous florist of District 12, to be carried away to be burned to ashes. His living relations (a husband, if Darryl recalled correctly) would receive the jar of ashes and sufficient compensation for them to move on from their grief, though how one could grieve such a criminal as him, Darryl had no idea._

 

_Well, it wasn’t his business anyway. With that thought, Darryl took out his Capitol-issued knife to cut down the undoubtedly rotting body from the old tree. He looked up, blinked, and gasped in shock._

 

 _There was supposed to only be one set of feet swinging from the branches, the set of feet that had belonged to the hanged man he’d watched die just yesterday. So then, why were there_ **_two?_ **

 

\---

 

“Mama?”

 

“Yes dear?”

 

“Who’s that kid over there?”

 

Hiroko turned to see Yuuri pointing towards a young boy with long, silver hair and a bright red backpack. He’d stopped to bend over and pick some flowers, and he giggled as he placed a daisy in his hair. Someone, probably his mother, called out, “Vitenka! Hurry up little one!”

 

“Coming Mama!” He answered, and skipped off the path with a grin on his face to match the sunny daisy in his hair.

 

“Mama?” Hiroko turned to look at her child and smiled. At just five, Yuuri was quite small for his age, and even as he stared at the world in wonder, he clung to his mother’s arm tightly, refusing to let go for even a moment. At the moment, he was pouting at her.

 

“Mama,” he whined, “Who is he?”

 

Hiroko huffed amusedly and ruffled her child’s hair with her one free hand. “I don’t know Yuuri. He must be from the merchant side of town.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes widened comically. “A merchant?” Yuuri exclaimed, tearing his gaze away from her to look down the path the boy’d taken. “Whoaaaaaa.”

 

Suddenly, his eyes snapped back to her. “Do you think he eats silver for breakfast Mama?”

 

Hiroko laughed. “Yuuri! Why would you think that?”

 

“‘Cause his hair’s soooooo pretty! No one’s hair is _that_ pretty, Mama,” Yuuri declared, crossing his arms with all the authority of his five years.

 

Hiroko’s laughter died down, and she took Yuuri’s hand before starting down the road once more. “Well,” she said, lips twitching fondly, “I hope you tell him that today.”

 

Yuuri’s hand ripped out of hers at the same time as a “No!” ripped out of his lungs. Alarmed, Hiroko turned backwards. “Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri had balled up his fists, and his face was flushed brighter than a cardinal wing. “I-I can’t just _tell_ him that Mama! What if he thinks I’m-”

 

He dropped her gaze and crossed his arms. Hiroko sighed and kneeled down to look her son in the eye. “What if he thinks you’re what, Yuuri?”

 

“...Stupid.”

 

“Oh Yuuri.” Hiroko gathered her son into a hug, knowing that they’d be late on Yuuri’s first day, but somehow not finding it in herself to care. Yuuri wasn’t just scared that whoever that boy was would think he was stupid, he was scared that everyone would find him stupid. Honestly, if Hiroko hadn’t been so busy, she could’ve seen this happen to her son earlier, this spiral that only seemed to be breaking today.

 

Hiroko swallowed. One way or another, she vowed, she would fix this.

 

“Yuuri,” she whispered, “Listen to me. He won’t think you’re stupid.”

 

Yuuri sniffled. “He-he won’t?”

 

And _oh_ did that break Hiroko’s heart. “No my son. I think it’s his first day too. Chances are, he’ll wonder if you think he’s stupid.”

 

“Well, _that’s_ stupid.”

 

“Yuuri!” Hiroko laughed, pulling back slightly to look her pouty son in the eyes. She smiled softly and began wiping away his tears. “It’ll be okay, Yuuri. I know it’s scary, but you can do this. I believe in you.”

 

Yuuri sniffled one last time before pushing her hands away to rub at his own eyes. When he was done, he looked her dead in the eye, gaze filled with determination. “M’ready.”

 

Hiroko’s smiled widened, and she stood up, dusting off her knees before reaching out to hold Yuuri’s hand again.

 

“Let’s go, Yuuri.”

 

\---

“Hey there! My name’s Victor! What’s your name?”

 

“...Yuuri.”

 

“Yuuri! Wanna be my friend?”

 

“...Mhm.”

 

“Great!”

 

\---

 

_Mayor Buten and Head Peacekeeper Sloane were just finishing up the last of their celebratory drinks when the door burst open._

 

_“SIR!” A young Peacekeeper ran into the room, his brown hair sweaty and limp. He looked around the room, blanching when he saw the mayor. “I-I-”_

 

_“Boy, what’s the matter with you?” Sloane grumbled. “Running in with no respect- don’t you know how to knock?”_

 

_The boy’s eyes flicked over to where the mayor sat. “I-I’m sorry sir, but-”_

 

_“But what boy?” The young Peacekeeper flinched at Sloane’s whip-sharp tone. Buten sighed and leaned back. Not for the first time, he wished he could sleep. All that awaited him however were increasingly garish nightmares of his son’s death._

 

_“Well?” Sloane snapped when the boy continued to stammer, “Can’t you see I’m busy?”_

 

 **_Busy drinking me out of my good scotch more like it_ ** _, Buten thought bitterly as he took another sip._

 

_“S-Sir, there are two bodies swinging from the tree, sir.” Buten raised his head in shock._

 

_“What do you mean there are two bodies?!” Sloane shouted, and Buten privately agreed. They had only hung one person yesterday, so that meant the other could only be…_

 

_Buten tossed back the last of his drink and stood up, wiping his mouth furiously. “Take me to the site,” he demanded, swaying on his feet._

 

_“Wh-bu-” At Buten’s glare, the Peacekeeper gulped and saluted. “Yes sir! R-Right away!” Then he all but ran out of the room, almost tripping on his way. Buten started to follow after him, cursing as he bumped his leg into a chair._

 

_“Mayor Buten, what’s got you all riled up?” Sloane asked, swirling a glass of scotch. Buten looked up and glared at Sloane, who leered at him from the corner. “It’s just another body. Who even cares?”_

 

 _“I care,” Buten snapped, finally reaching the door. “It’s my district after all. You could stand to care a bit more too,_ **_Head Peacekeeper.”_ ** _And with that, Buten walked out, slamming the door behind him._

 

 _The_ **_thud_ ** _echoed throughout the room. Sloane chuckled and threw his head back. “Well,” he said to the ceiling, “might as well.” He tipped back the last of his scotch before hurling the glass at the wall. He roared with laughter as the glass shattered and fell to the floor. Then, he stopped, wiped his eyes, and headed out the door. For the second time that day, a loud_ **_thud_ ** _echoed through the silent, empty room left behind._

 

\---

 

Years passed. The two boys grew up, and grew closer together. Through the District, they were never known as just Victor, or just Yuuri, but Victor-and-Yuuri or Yuuri-and-Victor. It was a well known fact that if you wanted talk to one of them, the other would be close behind. Normally, this didn’t cause problem but…

 

“Hey Victor, can I talk to you for a bit?” Victor turned around. He’d been waiting by the old willow tree for Yuuri to come out. His freshly-cut bangs flopped over his eye and he smiled, guarded.

 

“Sure, what’s up, Magden?”

 

Magden Buten was a tall, broad-shouldered lad. He stood half a head taller than Victor himself, and had the attitude to match it, which, considering he was the mayor’s son, made a lot of sense.

 

“Listen Victor, I think you’re pretty cute, so…” he trailed off, wiggling his eyebrows with a smirk, “Wanna come to the slag heap with me after school?”

 

It was gross, and disgusting, and Victor was about to calmly tear him down, mayor’s son be damned, when he heard,

 

“Vitya!”

 

He turned around, beaming when he saw Yuuri waving at him in the distance. “Yuuri!” he called back, holding his arms open for a hug. “How was class?” he asked, turning his back to Magden.

 

“Good!” Yuuri said, before noticing Magden. “Oh Vitya, did I interrupt something?”

 

Magden cleared his throat, “Actually-”

 

“You didn’t Yuuri! Magden and I had just finished talking. Bye Magden!” Victor waved briefly, before he took Yuuri’s arm and practically pulled Yuuri away from the boy. But just as Victor had thought he was safe-

 

“Yeah so I’ll meet you at the slag heap tonight, all right?”

 

Victor stiffened. He turned around, face flushed with anger, “You-!”

 

But Magden had already walked off, his friends slapping his back in congratulations and laughing obnoxiously. There was no point in going after him.

 

Victor sighed and turned back to Yuuri. “Let’s go home Yuuri!” he said, trying to look cheerful.

 

But Yuuri was frowning, and his eyes would not meet Victor’s. “Are you meeting him at the slag heap later Victor?” he asked softly.

 

“No!” Victor blurted out, wincing when he saw how it scared Yuuri. He cleared his throat. “No, no, definitely not!”

 

Yuuri’s frown deepened. “It’s okay if you are,” he argued, “I won’t judge. I just…”

 

That caught Victor’s attention. “Just what?” he whispered softly, heart beating so loudly he could barely hear anything else.

 

Yuuri shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said, before lifting his head and walking resolutely down the road.

 

Victor blinked in shock. “W-Wait, Yuuri!”

 

“It’s fine, Victor!” Yuuri called back. “Now come on, we need to get home!”

 

“Yuuri, stop, _please!”_ At that, Victor saw Yuuri stop immediately, and he heard him sigh. He turned around.

 

“What is it Victor?” he asked dully, still not meeting Victor’s eyes. Victor walked quickly towards him and, to Yuuri’s horrified protests, kneeled down at his feet.

 

“Yuuri please, what were you going to say?” Victor begged, trying to catch Yuuri’s gaze. Yuuri sighed once more, this time aggravatedly.

 

“You know what? Fine. I just thought you liked me. That’s all.”

 

Victor’s mouth dropped, and he stood up quickly, almost bumping into Yuuri. “I, I do like you!” he stammered, heart pounding at the direction the conversation had turned.

 

Yuuri scoffed and for _the love of everything good would he please just look at Victor?!_ “Clearly not, seeing as you’re going to the slag heap with the mayor’s son.”

 

Victor shook his head frantically, hands coming up to grip at Yuuri’s shoulders. “Yuuri, Yuuri listen to me,” he pleaded, “Magden had just asked me that when you called me. I was about to say no, I promise.”

 

Yuuri looked up, and _oh_ there went Victor’s heart, because Yuuri, precious Yuuri, had tears in his eyes. “Really?” he asked, voice barely wavering.

 

“Really.” Victor uselessly squeezed at Yuuri’s shoulders, grasping for more words when Yuuri pulled them in for a sudden hug that took his breath away with the force of it.

 

They stood there like that for a couple minutes before Victor remembered. “Um, Yuuri?” Yuuri hummed from where he was pressed against Victor’s neck. “Do you, uh, do you like me too?”

 

Yuuri pulled back, fire in his cheeks and neck and eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly, “I’ve liked you ever since the day I saw you. I think,” he broke off, and licked his lips nervously, and said even more quietly “I might even love you.”

 

“Oh _Yuuri,”_ Victor breathed, bringing his face close enough to brush noses with Yuuri, “I love you too. So much.”

 

“Victor,” Yuuri said, voice choking with relief and want, “Kiss me?”

 

And so Victor did, in the spring of their lives, underneath the willow tree. He kissed him sweet and slow, and though it wasn’t perfect, it was theirs, and would be theirs, for the rest of their lives.

 

\---

 

_By the time Darryl had made it back to the tree, a crowd had already gathered. Some sneered, while others looked on, white with horror. Some were able to keep a straight face, while others cried, their sobs rendering the buzzing of the flies swarming around the tree barely audible._

 

_The sun beat harshly down, but the two bodies were protected somewhat by the leaves of the willow tree. Darryl felt the tickle of a sweat drop as it ran down his back, and though he wished to be out of the sun, the only solace was under the shade of the willow tree, and the sights under there were something Darryl never wanted to witness ever again._

 

_“Alright people, back it up, back it up now.” The Head Peacekeeper had finally shown up, and was commanding the crowd like he usually did. The only tell-tale sign that he was drunk lay in his face, which was redder than usual, and even that could be explained away by the oppressive heat._

 

_“Now, what's all this fuss about there being two bodies?” he asked once the crowd had quieted down. No one answered out loud, but they all turned to look at the tree._

 

 _There, at the base of the tree, lay a pair of old glasses and a pair of worn shoes. And, in the quiet murmur of the buzzing flies, all could hear a soft_ **_crrr-crrr_ ** _of a rope, echoed by another, as they swung in time, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth..._

 

\---

 

“Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri hummed, not opening his eyes. Victor’s fingers were really the best, he thought dazedly as they ran through his hair, trembling like leaves-

 

 _Wait._ Yuuri opened his eyes. “Victor?” he said worriedly, “Is something wrong?”

 

Victor’s eyes widened, and Yuuri could see the bit of nervous panic in them even as he tried to cover it up with a huge smile. “Ahaha no-”

 

“Victor.” Yuuri clutched the hand that had stopped running through his hair. He brought it down to his mouth to give the palm a kiss, blushing as he heard a hitch in Victor’s breath. Still, he looked up at Victor resolutely. “Tell me.”

 

Victor swallowed and licked his lips. “I was wondering…”

 

Yuuri did his best to keep Victor grounded, rubbing circles into Victor’s palm. “Yes?”

 

Victor swallowed again. “D-do you want to get married?” he blurted out, mouth snapping shut with a click.

 

Yuuri went to sit up immediately, but instead, he ended up knocking his head into Victor’s chin so hard that he saw stars.

 

“Ah!” Yuuri's hand flew up to his head, wincing at the sharp flare of pain. “Oh shit, Vitya!” He turned around, carefully cradling Victor’s face within his hands. “Are you alright?”

 

Victor blinked, and his hands came up to cover Yuuri’s. “Is,” he licked his lips, “Is that a ‘no’?”

 

“What? No! I mean yes! Wait, I mean- gah!” Yuuri ducked his head, groaning.

 

“Yuuri?” And Yuuri stiffened. Victor sounded so… _unsure._ He looked up to see Victor frantically blinking away tears.

 

“Oh Vitya,” he breathed, sliding his hand up to gently brush away the tears that had gathered underneath Victor’s eyes. His heart broke further when he felt Victor shudder underneath his palms. “Yes Vitya.”

 

Victor snapped his eyes open. “Really?” he asked, voice cracking with relief.

 

Yuuri sniffled (and when had he started crying in the first place?) and brought Victor closer, hands coming up to thread their way through his hair. “Really.”

 

Victor laughed before pulling backwards. “I, uh, I have a ring back at the flower shop. It was, um, my grandmother’s…”

 

“Vitya, I’ll marry you. Ring or no ring, I’ll marry you.”

 

Victor smiled sweetly. “I know.”

 

\---

 

That night, in front of both their families, they exchanged rings. They beamed, their fingers glinting with gold as bright as their smiles and their dreams for the future.

 

That night, alone underneath the full moon, they exchanged kisses. Kisses that were promises. Kisses that were vows.

 

That night, as they walked away from each other, matching lovey dovey grins on their faces, a dark figure watched them from the shadows. He cursed, but stepped back into the alley, blending in with the shadows of the night.

\---

 

The day of their wedding dawned clear and pure. Yuuri enthusiastically woke with the sunrise for once in his life, and smiled at the pale melon-colored sky out his window. By this time tomorrow, he would be waking up beside Victor, a routine that they would carry for the rest of their lives.

 

 _The rest of our lives,_ Yuuri thought as he lifted his hand above his head, watching the golden ring glint in the morning light. A sudden giddiness overtook him, and he dropped his hand to cover his eyes and laugh quietly in amazement.

 

 _Oh god,_ he thought, kissing his ring fondly, _I can’t_ **_wait._ **

 

\---

 

If Yuuri could have been asked later, he would have said that he remembered jack shit all about the ceremony. All he did remember was Victor’s face as Yuuri’d walked out of Celestino’s. Victor had instantly started tearing up, pure, crystalline tears slipping over the rosy apples of his cheeks.

 

“Oh, _Yuuri,”_ he said, choked up with tears and love, “you look so _beautiful.”_

 

Yuuri blushed, but didn’t turn away, even as he could feel himself tearing up from the fact that he was finally, _finally,_ marrying Victor. Victor, who was his first and best friend, and his first and only love. Victor, the man he’d been dreaming of for ages, even after they’d confessed to each other underneath the willow tree they would be marrying under today. Victor, who was here, standing in front of him, with arms and heart outstretched towards his own.

 

Yuuri stepped into his love’s embrace, warmed by the morning summer sun and the warmth which always radiated off of Victor, no matter the time and season. He closed his eyes, and smiled at the smell of flowers that he’d always associated with Victor. From this position, with his ear pressed tightly against Victor’s chest, he could hear the slightly rapid _thump-thump-thump_ of Victor’s otherwise steady heartbeat.

 

“Are you nervous, Vitya?” he asked coyly, muffled into Victor’s shirt.

 

“Yuuuri,” Victor whined. Yuuri laughed at the sound and nuzzled his face further into Victor’s chest. “Of course I’m nervous! I’m finally getting married to you.”

 

Yuuri smiled wider and hugged Victor just a little bit tighter than he already was doing. “Yuuri?” Victor asked amusedly, lightly curious, “What was that for?”

 

“Mmm, nothing,” Yuuri pulled back a bit to look at Victor, and he brought up a hand to stroke Victor’s smooth, still-wet cheek fondly, “I just had the same thought a little while ago. That I was finally going to marry you.”

 

Victor burst into his beautiful heart-shaped smile, and tears started beading up in his eyes once more. “Y-Yuuri!” he half-sobbed.

 

And Yuuri, of course, could never see Victor cry, be it out of happiness or sadness, without crying himself, so too followed suit. “Vitya,” he sniffled, “C’mere.”

 

And so Yuuri pulled his fiance, soon-to-be-husband (and wasn’t that a wonderful thought), down for the sloppiest, saltiest kiss of their lives. They were laughing into it every few seconds, and yet neither wanted to pull away. Honestly, they would’ve stayed like that for the rest of day, wedding be damned, had it not been for little Yuri Plisetsky, who’d taken one look out the window of his grandfather’s butchery and screamed at them to get a room. They jolted apart and apologized to Yuri as sincerely as they could, though they were still giggling here and there. In a huff, Yuri closed the window with a bang, scaring off a large group of crows that had been sitting outside.

 

Still laughing, they turned to each, smiles slowly softening down into something small and sweet, just for the two of them.

 

Yuuri cleared his throat. “Sh-shall we go get married then, my love?”

 

Victor took both of Yuuri’s hand in his and kissed them reverently, never once taking his eyes off of Yuuri’s blushing face. “Let’s, my love.”

 

\---

 

“Come on Yuuri! Throw the rope!”

 

Yuuri grinned, spinning the rope above his head faster while trying to figure out where Victor was in the midst of all the joyful screams. It was an old tradition in District 12. When people got married, one of the partners took a looped rope and threw it as close as they could to their new spouse. The closer the rope was to the other person, the closer the couple would be for the rest of their lives. It sounded easy, until you realized that the person throwing the rope had to be blindfolded.

 

To be honest, it didn’t matter to Yuuri if the loop ended up missing Victor and landed in the Capitol instead. He and Victor would forever be closer to each other than anyone else would ever know, and as long as both of them knew that, Yuuri was happy.

 

Still, it would be nice to throw it at least in Victor’s general direction. Maybe it would even touch his feet if Yuuri threw it hard enough.

 

And with that thought in mind, Yuuri swung the rope around his head one last time, before tossing it with a grunt.

 

Silence. Absolute silence. What happened? Did he throw the lasso at a Peacekeeper? At the president himself? Yuuri was about to go mad with nerves when he heard a soft, “Oh _Yuuri.”_

 

Yuuri ripped off his blindfold to see Victor in front of him, crying like he had when they’d exchanged vows. And there, around his neck, was the rope.

 

“Victor,” he breathed, stumbling his way over towards his husband. And just like that, the crowd started cheering wildly around them, whooping and hollering with joy.

 

But Yuuri only had eyes for Victor, his Victor, and he stumbled into Victor’s arms, hugging him close and burying his face in his neck. When he pulled back, his vision was blurry, and his glasses were smudged, but he could still see Victor’s tear-wobbled, heart-shaped smile.

 

“You’re with me forever, husband mine,” Victor murmured softly, hands coming up to thread through Yuuri’s hair.

 

Yuuri hummed, happy, and whispered, “That’s not long enough,”, before gently tugging on the rope to bring him in for a kiss.

 

\---

 

Later, they sat below their tree in the dying rays of the sun. Yuuri had put on a flower crown that Victor had made for him, while Victor still wore Yuuri’s rope around his neck. Yuuri leaned forward, chuckling contentedly as a breeze swung by, carrying both flower petals and the sound of laughter with it.

 

Victor just smiled, nuzzling closer to Yuuri as they watched the sun go down. With Yuuri beside him, he wished on the flower petals flying past them that this moment would never end.

 

\---

 

Yuuri was just closing up the bakery when he saw them. The three men were stumbling down the dark street, obviously drunk, singing songs so lewd it made him want to grimace.

 

Instead, he stepped away from the door, politely acknowledging the drunks with a smile and a nod. “Good evening gentlemen.”

 

Now that Yuuri’s eyes had gotten used to the dark, he could see that the three drunks were Magden and a couple of his high-ranked friends. Maybe they’d gotten trashed at one of those parties the mayor always had at their mansion?

 

Yuuri shook his head slightly. Whatever it was, it wasn’t his place to judge. So he turned away once more to lock the door.

 

_SLAM!_

 

Yuuri cried out as he was slammed into a wall. His glasses slipped off, and, as he struggled to regain his footing, he heard them crunching under his foot.

 

“Awwwww, did the little piggy lose his balance?” An alcohol-laden voice sneered, setting off more obnoxious laughter from behind Yuuri. Yuuri panted and groaned softly, already taking stock of the bruises that were going to form.

 

Just as he'd managed to push himself away from the wall, he felt another burst of pain as Magden punched him and staggered back, clutching his cheek. He pulled his hand away, dully realizing that the dark slick between his fingers was his blood.

 

Magden threw his head back, barking with laughter. “You're a wimp, arentcha Kasooookiiiii?”

 

Yuuri didn't answer, just looked at him warily. His vision was blurry without the aid of his glasses, made even blurrier by the fact that his head was spinning with pain, but he could still see Magden in front of him, getting closer and closer.

 

Suddenly, he stopped. And then slowly, awfully, he smirked. “I, _hic,_ betcha don’t know why we’re bein’ friendly with ya?”

 

Before Yuuri could drily state that he wasn’t so sure that this was what being friendly meant, he was lifted by his collar and slammed into the wall. He gasped as the back of his head hit the hard brick of the wall and groaned again, this time louder.

 

Magden leaned in, and Yuuri could smell the foul alcohol on his breath. “Well,” Magden rumbled, “I’ll tell ya. It’s cause you and Victor, that stupid bastard, humiliated me!” And then he leaned even closer, so close that they were a breath’s distance away from each other. “So I’m gonna humiliate _you.”_

 

That was the last thing Yuuri heard before a punch to his head made his ears ring so loudly that he barely heard his own voice calling out for his husband.

 

“Victor,” he gasped, eyes blinking wildly as he was punched and kicked and slammed. “Victor!”

 

Through the haze of pain, he heard Victor scream “Yuuri!” right as he got a kick to the head and his world burst into stars of pain. And then, blackness.

 

When he woke up again, the first thing he saw was Victor’s frightened face white as a sheet. The only thing that marred it was…

 

“Blood?” Yuuri mumbled, bring his hand up to wipe at Victor's chin. Victor flinched away.

 

“I-It’s not mine,” he said, gaze dropping to whatever he held in his hands. Yuuri looked down. It took him a second to recognize Victor's favorite pair of shears, blood-stained as they were.

 

“Vitya?” he whispered, tongue and clarity feeling thicker than mud.

 

“Shhhh,” Victor hushed him, before scooping him up gently. “It's alright my love. I'm taking us home.”

 

Yuuri shut his eyes, trusting his husband completely. “Mmkay,” he whispered, nuzzling closer into Victor's chest.

 

Throughout the night, he heard whispers. From Victor, from Mari, from his mom, from Yakov. He heard sobs. From his mom, from Victor.

 

But why was Victor sobbing? he thought absently. Sobbing means sad, and Victor should never be sad; Yuuri made a promise to that.

 

In the midst of all this thinking, he passed out once more. When he next woke, his mind was clearer, and Victor was by his side, stroking his hands.

 

“Victor?” he whispered, wincing inwardly at how rough his voice sounded. Immediately, Victor pressed a glass of water to his lips.

 

“Drink,” he said, and Yuuri did, grateful. When he was done, Victor set it back down softly, precisely. Then he leaned forward and scrubbed his face with his hands.

 

“Yuuri,” he whispered, “I did a bad thing.”

 

Yuuri thought back to last night. The pain, the screams, the blood on Victor's face and shears… “You killed someone.”

 

Victor laughed bitterly. “Not just one of them, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri felt a spike of alarm, the first clear emotion he'd felt since last night. “Victor,” he said, rushed and hushed, “Victor, did you kill all of them?”

 

Silence. Outside, a rooster crowed in the distance, urging those in bed to wake. The wind rustled in the trees, once, twice, thrice, before Victor finally took a shaky breath and nodded.

 

Yuuri's heart sank. “Oh Vitya…”

 

“They're going to take me away Yuuri,” he said steadily, not looking Yuuri in the eye. “They'll take me away, and I don't know if I'll come back.”

 

Yuuri was shaking. “Vitya…”

 

Finally, Victor turned to him, and his eyes were intense, darker than Yuuri had ever seen on his love, his best friend. “Yuuri,” he said slowly, bringing up one of Yuuri's hands to kiss gently, “if I don't come back, then please, run.”

 

Yuuri swallowed. “To where?” he asked softly, gripping Victor's hand with all his strength.

 

Victor licked his lips. “I, I know this is selfish, but if you can my love, then please,” and Victor looked up and held Yuuri captive in his eyes, pleading and loving and needy, “please run to me.”

 

And what else could Yuuri say but “Yes.”

 

\---

 

The next day, they came for Victor. Apparently, a Peacekeeper had seen the bodies outside the bakery, along with the shears Victor had left behind in his haste to get Yuuri home and healed.

 

They took him away in chains, and Yuuri, who could barely sit up, was forced to watch him go through the window. They locked eyes, and for a brief moment, all was right, before Victor was shoved forward and had to look away.

 

That was one of the last times Yuuri saw his husband before his death.

 

\---

 

“The court of District 12, founded under the Great Capitol, finds the accused guilty of all charges!”

 

_No._

 

“Take him away to the hold!”

 

_No._

 

“He will be hanged when the sun sets tomorrow!”

 

_NO!_

 

Yuuri could hear someone screaming in the background. It wasn’t until he was dragged outside by his friends that he noticed it was him.

 

\---

 

The sky was dying.

 

Over the tops of the twisted trees, it bled, sun-red and fiery. There was not a cloud to block it, not even a wisp.

 

At the top of the hill, Yuuri stood, face and throat painted in the red of the sky. Some might say it was strange he was waiting here for Victor instead of being down in the throng of people. But he knew it’s what Victor would have wanted.

 

Suddenly, the crowd near the tree began to murmur, their voices growing louder and louder when they caught sight of Victor’s famous silver hair.

 

“It’s him!”

 

And so it was. From where Yuuri stood, he could see everything the crowd couldn’t: the way Victor, bless his heart, tried his best to keep his back straight and head high, the way he tried not to flinch even as his bare feet was forced to move across sharp shards of rock. Yuuri turned his ring on his finger to the rhythm of Victor’s steps.

 

Right twist, right foot; left twist, left foot. And so it went, as Victor trudged tiredly, doggedly, to the willow tree, their willow tree.

 

By now, the crowd was seething with hatred, like the fire and blood of the heavens had sunk so deep into their bodies that their very bones rattled for a way out. Victor faced them, blue eyes looking upon their angry, spitting faces with the cool of a winter’s sky at dawn, sharp and clear. And oh _damn it all,_ but he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be shouted at by stupid people who, only knowing half truths and total lies, had come out tonight to condemn the man they had once called the darling of the district. He didn’t deserve to stand there on splinter-poked feet, trembling from gnawing hunger and thirst ( _so much for never letting him go hungry, eh Yuuri?_ His mind whispered. Yuuri couldn’t even muster up the energy to shut it up). He didn’t deserve this, and yet he was getting this. And it wasn’t _fair._

 

One of the Peacekeepers, in spotless, frigid white, shoved him in the back roughly with a gun. Victor stumbled forward, but ultimately managed to catch himself. He looked around, and Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat when his gaze finally landed on him. And then Victor screamed.

 

“Run Yuuri!”

 

Any other person would have thought Victor was telling them to run away from the crowd whose judgmental gaze had turned to him, away from the creaky, blocky hanging stand that hadn’t been used for years, away from Victor, whose eyes, oh so blue, even after days of wasting away in prison, pleaded with him. Any other person would have thought Victor was telling Yuuri to run away, and never come back.

 

But Yuuri knew better.

 

With one last look at the eyes he loved so much, he turned on his heel and ran, flying across the streets, racing towards the home he’d shared with Victor as his husband for nary a week. Once there, he slammed the door and slid down against it until he was sitting. He waited, for the tears, the inevitable meltdown. None came, and after an hour, Yuuri got up and walked over to the table, where an unassuming length of rope lay.

 

Yuuri took a deep, shuddering breath and picked up the rope, starting to knot it. Come morning light, he and Victor would be together again; he’d make sure of it.

 

\---

 

That night, Yuuri lay awake with gritty eyes and a pounding heart. His ears strained for even the slightest sound, but he couldn’t hear anything apart from his harsh breaths and heartbeat. It was ironic to think that the only sounds he could hear now were the only things that separated him and his husband.

 

 _Not for much longer,_ Yuuri vowed, slowly getting up out of bed. He grabbed the knotted rope from his bedside table and made his way through the house, touching the walls that had been built to see so much laughter, so much sadness, so much _life._ Now they would see only dead dust, floating around on stale air and weak sunshine.

 

With one last look at the house he and Victor would never be able to grow old in, he stepped over the threshold, and closed the door on the last chapter of his life.

 

The full moon shone and casted bright moonbeam rays on the rocky path to Victor’s resting place. As Yuuri walked through the back-alleys of the town, he heard giggles of love bubbling up from the shadows where an adventurous couple had dared to steal away. Despite himself, the corner of his lip curled up, and he shook his head fondly. How fitting that he and Victor would be together once again on a lover’s night.

 

Finally, his winding journey came to an end, right at the foot of the willow tree. It was here where he and Victor had first talked to each other, where they had first become friends. It was here where they had first confessed, kissed, and become lovers in the flush of spring. It was here they had sat, countless times, watching the leaves sway in the breeze with their heads on top of each other. It was here they had been wed, only a week ago, and they’d been so, _so_ hopeful, eyes filled with dreams.

 

It was here, swaying in those branches above his head, their dreams died. Yuuri looked up, but even with the moonlight filtering through the leaves of the willow tree, he couldn’t see Victor’s face. Just the sheen of silver hair, as pale as the stars above, flashing in and out of the darkness as Victor’s body swayed to and fro.

 

He quickly set up the rope, tossing it over the side of Victor’s branch until it looped back into his hands. He tied it tightly to the branch and tugged on it sharply, pleased when he saw that it wasn’t loose and wouldn’t fail him when the time came.

 

He stepped off the hanging block, out of the shade of the willow, and into the night sky. One last time, he wanted to look at the moon. Earlier, he’d thought he’d feel like screaming, howling like a wolf, long and loud, so that his grief reached the stars. And yet, when he looked at the moon, the lover’s moon he’d kissed Victor under many, many times, he felt eerily calm.

 

“Alright,” he whispered, “I’m going then.”

 

And so he stepped back into the shadows and took off his shoes, wincing as his feet hit the rocky ground. He started to climb the hanging block, before he shook his head, took off his glasses, and placed them neatly next to his shoes. _For the first time in my life,_ he thought ruefully as he climbed the stairs to the hanging block, _I don’t want to see Victor._

 

Finally, he reached the top of the block. The noose he’d made swung in the wind, so seemingly innocent in its gentle swaying. Yuuri grabbed it and, with trembling fingers, started to place it around his neck.

 

His fingers brushed against his face and neck as he pulled the rope over his head. They were oddly cold for a summer night, like he was dead and swinging already. The rope was coarse and thick, and it scratched roughly at the sensitive skin of his throat, barely keeping him from wincing. Slowly, he tightened the noose until he could feel it digging into his Adam’s apple uncomfortably. He swallowed, once, twice, thrice, and each time was more difficult than the last.

 

He glanced left out of the corner of his eyes. The world was silver-tinged black, and the only thing he could even see was the glimmer of Victor’s hair, like the pale underbelly of a fish in spring water, as it flashed in and out of the moonlit shadows that lay heavily around them like a shroud. Yuuri took a deep breath, and decided to jump on the count of three.

 

“One,”

 

A gust of wind slammed into him, cold and fresh with the sweetness of the night. The branches rattled above them, the soft susurrations of the leaves their echoes.

 

“Two,”

 

Yuuri looked up as much as he could. Without his glasses, he could just barely make out the outline of the moon, winking in and out of the willow leaves. _Goodbye,_ he thought, and even in his mind, his thought was soft and echoing.

 

“Three!”

 

He jumped. For a moment, he was weightless, suspended in the air. Then he was falling, falling, falling-

 

_SNAP!_

 

\---

 

_In the end, they managed to get most of the crowd to leave. Those who remained were order to stay on the other end of the path on pain of death if they moved even an inch. They decided to cut both bodies down and burn them both, with the ashes going to the remaining family members._

 

_Thankfully, Darryl was not one of the people cutting them down. The mayor had taken one look at him and sent him to keep peace in the rest of the district. Grateful, Darryl took the rest of the day to walk through town, watching as people scrambled away from him when they recognized him as one of the Peacekeepers involved with the… incident._

 

_When he got to the edge of town, what he found both chilled him and made his insides squirm in a peculiar, pathetic manner. All around the residence of the dead husbands were loaves of fresh bread and bouquets of fresh flowers. And right in the center, there was a photograph taken only a week ago._

 

_Darryl’s throat closed up when he saw how happy the dead men looked, and, as he looked closer, he almost vomited when he saw the rope around Nikiforov’s neck. He ran then, stumbling away from the residence, only to bump into someone._

 

_“I’m, I’m sorry,” he stammered. The bleach-haired, red-eyed woman in front of him, though she looked shocked on impact, took a decisive step back and glared at him coolly._

 

_“What are you doing here.”_

 

_“I-I’m patrolling,” he said, shaken by the photo and the woman in front of him who bore a startling resemblance to one of the dead men._

 

_“Mm,” she narrowed her eyes, “And did you find what you were patrolling for?”_

 

_“Ah, um-”_

 

_She held up a hand to silence him. “It doesn’t matter to me. Just make sure you’re gone by the time my mother gets here.” And with that, she walked forward, laying down a bouquet as she went by._

 

_Darryl wanted to say something, anything. About why she was here, about how she couldn’t disrespect him, a Peacekeeper, like that and expect to get away with it. He wanted to ask her something, anything. About who she was, about who the dead men in the picture were, and why they’d decided to swing together, hand-in-hand, like two puppets with blood-bursted faces and broken necks._

 

_In the end though, he couldn’t say anything, and so he left the woman to her grieving._

 

 _That night, as he lay himself to bed, the wind howled, oddly cold for a summer night. The room creaked, much like the aching crack of a dead man’s noose. Darryl shivered and tugged his blankets over his head._ **_Nothing strange ever happened in District 12,_ ** _he thought, just before he drifted off,_ **_Except, it seemed, when something did._ **

 

_\---_

 

**_Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be,_ **

**_If we met up at midnight at the hanging tree._ **

 


End file.
